“Hold on, Goldie! I know when I’m beaten. I give you my word I won’t stop those if you’ll let me up now. What’s more, I won’t lay a hand on you, honor bright!”
Peter set about untying the knots; it was a long task.
“Had breakfast?” asked Morris, presently.
Peter had not. He had quite forgotten it.
“Well,” said Morris, “wait until I get my clothes on and we’ll go over to Brimm’s and have some.”
“All right,” stammered Peter. He flushed with pleasure and embarrassment.
“But what I can’t understand,” said Morris, a little later, stretching his cramped arms above his head, “what I can’t understand is why you want to go to all this bother about crew money. It isn’t your funeral.”
Peter Doe paused in the labor of undoing a particularly obstinate knot that confined Morris’s chest, and stared at the conquered giant in real surprise.
“Why, class spirit, of course!” he said.